My Life as a Sex-O-Gram: Book One by Nikki Blaise

Author:Nikki Blaise [Blaise, Nikki]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Erotica, Literature & Fiction
Amazon: B005IYXXRU
Published: 2011-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Teacher

I was still getting some jobs through the agency, even though I was giving out my own cards as well. One Friday morning I got a call to come into the office.

“What’s up?” I said, plonking myself down in the boss’s office, trying to hide my concern. Had he found out I’d been handing out my own cards?

“I have a job for you,” James, my boss, said. He opened a drawer and pulled out a school tie and a book. “This client wants to know do you have a short black skirt and a plain white blouse?”

“I can get one.”

“By tonight?”

I nodded. James handed me the tie.

“This is my old school tie,” I said, puzzled.

“Did you go to XXX High School?” James, said, naming my old school. I nodded again. “Well, you’ll know where to go then. The client wants you to wait at the school gates at 3.00pm, wearing the uniform and carrying this copy of Macbeth.” He handed me the book.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Nope.”

“Does he know who I am?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter? He’s paid and he’s a client.”

“I guess.” I spent the rest of the day wondering who the client was. It was a big school with a sixth form. It could have been any one of the teachers, or even a pupil. Was I supposed to dress like a student to fit in, so no one would notice I wasn't supposed to be there? Or was it part of the role-play? I put on the minimum of make-up, just enough to emphasise my eyes and lips, but not so much that I appeared too old to be there.

Fred dropped me off at the gates a few minutes early and parked up the road. I felt like a kid again, being dropped off at school by my dad. School didn’t kick out till 3.15pm so it was quiet. As instructed, I waited by the gates, carrying my book. At 3.00 on the dot, a man came round the corner of the school building towards me. As he came closer I recognised my old Maths teacher, Mr Robinson. He was in his 40s, married with three kids. We had always said he was a dirty old perv; he used to leer after the girls all the time. His steps slowed as he recognised me, and he looked confused, but when he clocked the Macbeth I was clutching, a lewd sneer of understanding spread across his face.

“Well, well, well, little Nikki Blaise,” he said, as he stopped in front of me.

“Well, well, well, pervy Mr Robinson,” I shot back.

“I always knew you were a little slut.”

“I always knew you were a perv.”

“Well, now that we understand each other, shall we go?” He took hold of my shoulder and firmly steered me towards the Maths block. Once in his classroom, he locked the door and closed the blinds. “Sit down,” he instructed me. Without thinking, I sat down in my old place in front of his desk, resting my elbows on the table.

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